Believable
by Cetacea84
Summary: '"Kate…" He put as much into that one word as he possibly could as her face faded into darkness.' Post 'Limey,' slight spoilers for Headhunters
1. Chapter 1

_Owww. Ow, ow, ow._

His brain was registering senses one at a time, deciding that feeling would be the first. A throbbing at the base of his skull. Dull cramping in his side, what could possibly be a busted rib. The only good thing about going down so easily this time seems to have been a lack of injuries. The lack of feeling in his hands added to the press of cool metal on his wrists caused some worry.

A quick tug of his arms confirmed this. Worry, oh yes, now it was time to worry. Handcuffed to a chair, sore, and a slow, woozy process of gaining his sight back in a dimply lit room. He shook his head slightly in an effort to speed the process and immediately regretted it. The throbbing increased tenfold and the movement set his ears ringing. He groaned. Definitely time to worry.

As the ringing settled from sonic boom to rock concert, he slowly became aware of another sound in his vicinity. He swallowed hard and forced the nauseous sensation that was threatening to overtake him back down, prying his eyes open and straining to see in the grayness. A little less than ten feet from where he sat, he could barely make out a seated body, light dully hitting from above. He could see, just barely, that, whoever it was, was moving. Or, at least, struggling to move. And struggling to communicate, if the muffled noises were any indication.

For a brief moment, he thought his eyesight was improving.

In the next, he realized, with another turn of his stomach and a slap of familiarity, that the lighting was actually improving in a strikingly professional way. A glance to the ceiling above and he was all too convinced of the situation.

_Stage lights._

And to his right, he could see the outlines of plush, black theatre seats fall into view. Two spotlights slowly coming to life in the small catwalk space. His head jerked back to the figure across from him and his heart plummeted.

"Becket…"

And for the first time he could make out the word that was continually muffled behind the black fabric that had been roughly tied around her mouth and head. _Castle_. Her eyes wild, her hair feathering out above the gag.

"Beckett -!"

A sound, like an electric circuit sparking out, for only a second. Her body jerked slightly and she yelped, her eyes crushing shut and then opening again an instant later even wider than before. He stared, horrified, not sure what had just happened and rapidly searching his mind for ways to prevent it from happening again.

"No, Mr. Castle."

The voice boomed, making him jump. Beckett looked at him, her eyes pleading, before sending her gaze out above the empty audience. He followed her gaze and it landed on the only other source of light in the small theatre. At the back wall, he could make out a silhouette settled in the lighting booth. The voice had come over the god-mic.

"I don't like the last name idea," it continued. "It's overused on every bad cop show ever made. The least we could do is address each other properly. Call her by her given name."

His eyes flicked back to Beckett's face, utterly terrified now, surely reflecting what his own face must be.

"Kate… Katherine."

Barely choked out.

Because now he could see what had happened to her.

This sick bastard had hooked her up to electrodes.

"That's a good start. If this is all going to go well, you'd better get used to my vision. Any deviance and… well, let's just say that the electrical capacity of this space has yet to be tested. And it would be a shame to have to find out what it is, wouldn't it?"

He felt frozen as the lights began to dim again, terrified to say anything, the wrong thing, and wanting nothing more than to give her any reassurance that he was going to get them out of this. _But can I?_

"Kate…" He put as much into that one word as he possibly could as her face faded into darkness.

The muffle of the fabric over her mouth did nothing to keep her words from him this time.

"Rick."


	2. Chapter 2

**TWO DAYS EARLIER**

_Zen. My mind is zen. My heart is zen. My life is… zen. Zen… is bullshit._

Beckett tried to finish her DVD yoga session in peace. She had been striving for peace of any kind for three weeks. Cases were not helping. Lanie giving her knowing looks every damn day was not helping. Alexis' subtle but noticeable avoidance of her was not helping. Blonde bombshells in red convertibles were not helping.

"Bring your hands into prayer pose at the heart center and inhale deeply," the overly blissful yogi on her DVD said wistfully. Beckett scrunched her face in frustration. How dare this woman be so freaking happy about her aligned chakras.

"Fucking Namaste," Beckett spat out, swiping the remote from her coffee table and punching the power button, not giving the instructor time to get out another word.

Grabbing her workout towel, she headed straight for the bathroom and turned on the shower, looking forward to the feeling of the hot water. The heater in her building had been temperamental as of late and she wound up waiting several minutes before the temperature was even tolerable. To pass the time, she swung open her medicine cabinet and retrieved the beauty products to prep for her post-shower transformation from au natural woman to intimidating, put-together cop. It was amazing what a bit of makeup could do for a woman in a world dominated by men. She laughed wryly at the idea.

As she closed her medicine cabinet, she couldn't help but stop and give herself a hard look in the mirror. Tinged with the first bit of bathroom fog, her face was framed, staring back at her, no less worried looking than it had ever been. At least, not that she could remember. There must have been times when she didn't have the scrutinizing crease in her brow, the slight downturn of her mouth, perhaps times when the last thing on her mind was examining how she looked in a mirror. Happier times with her father. A girl's night with Lanie, or drinks after work with the boys and…

"Don't," she scolded herself and walked away from the rapidly fogging mirror.

She had cried. Twice. And she was willing herself with every fiber of her being not to cry again, not this early in the morning with a full day ahead of her and a live case to be concentrating on. Gates had already snapped at her for "looking wilted" at work.

It was perfect timing. Beckett had just finished her first waterworks moment, in the morgue of course, sinking to the ground in Lanie's arms and choking out random sentences about being too late and losing him forever as he trotted off after Sluaghter and his shiny new toys. It was not her finest moment. She felt about fourteen years old. But she also felt deeply abandoned and alone, shaking with fear that he was past understanding her need to get her life straightened out before she could give herself to him in the way she wanted to.

And when he didn't show up to the precinct for a few days and her call rang twice before the ominous and intentional shift to voicemail, she fell apart in the safety of her own bedroom. Because in these moments of being brushed off, she made the unfortunate realization of exactly how bad she wanted to be with Richard Castle. Not just to see what it felt like. Not just until it fizzled. But for a good, long time. The deep, aching want to touch him and fall into the safety of his voice and his embrace exploded inside of her, potent from being pushed down for so long. She honestly had no idea how long she cried that night, but she woke up in the pre-dawn the next day practically stuck to her pillow. Somehow, she dragged herself out of bed, splashed water on her face, and vowed, no matter what the turmoil was ripping her heart apart, to do her job. To keep going.

And so she repeated the ritual this morning, inviting the cleansing water to renew her body before she set her high-heeled feet firmly on precinct ground.

Esposito met her immediately with updates on their case.

"Beckett," he called before she'd even had a chance to set her bag down at her desk. She made her way to the murder board as he filled her in. "Got an ID this morning. Fingerprints are a match for Georgette Bowton. Tweny-three, originally from Pittsburgh. Lived with a roommate in Astoria, Jennifer Keen, we've got her comin' in now."

"Do we have time of death?" she asked.

"Lanie places it between two a.m. and five a.m.," he informs her and she immediately blocks off the time frame on the board as Ryan joins them, clipping a driver's license photo next to the autopsy photo. He writes the name in bold print, underlining it. Beckett breathes, controlled, as these movements occur, finding calm as the familiar unfolds around her.

"Lanie's working on COD now," Ryan says, taking a step back to regard the board before turning away from its current lack of information.

"What do we know about her?" Beckett asks as she leans into the solid wood of the desk and folds her arms.

"She was a graduate of Barnard College last year, had just moved into the city about five months ago. Family still lives in Pennsylvania. Clean record, aside from a few parking tickets. Got a job back in December as a waitress at an Italian place in Hell's Kitchen," Ryan stopped to reference his notes. "Formaggios. Worked mostly nights and weekends. Boss said she was a good worker, reliable, except for a few last minute call outs for lunch shifts. Said she was really personable, big hit with the Wall Street guys who swung in for happy hour."

"Sounds like an actress."

She can't help it. The shiver that goes up her spine at the sound of his voice stands her hair on end. The reaction encompasses a multitude of emotions. As she glances over her shoulder, the main one is irritation, no matter how much she's been missing him lately. He's leaning casually against her desk – _her_ desk! – sipping his to-go coffee that is glaringly the only coffee in the vicinity. At the moment, irritation is a good replacement emotion to muster.

Esposito and Ryan both look to her. She refrains from rolling her eyes. _God, they're like puppy dogs waiting for the go-ahead_. She gives a noncommittal shrug of her shoulder and the most casual look she can manage. Ryan is the first to break rank.

"An actress?" he inquires.

"Waitress in the big city, good looking and lots of personality, lunch hours off," Castle offers with typical confidence. "Sure bet."

"Looks like we're about to find out for sure," Esposito says and nods towards the front of the bullpen. "Roommate just showed up."

He and Ryan make a quick exit to handle the distraught girl who had just been led in by another officer, leaving Beckett standing stiffly and all too aware of the presence behind her. Not able to stand more than a few seconds of listening to him sip his coffee, she turns slightly and speaks.

"You've been off for a few days. Chasing leads with Slaughter again?"

She inwardly cringes at the tinge of accusation in her voice. He doesn't seem to notice it.

"No, actually."

"Oh."

Silence. Another sip.

"Yo Beckett, we're ready for you!"

_God bless you, Espo_.

She takes off towards to the interview room, shooting over her shoulder as she walks, "You coming in for this one?" It's mostly out of habit.

"No thanks, think I'll watch from the observation deck. I've found you learn a lot more from there."

It's offhanded. It's a legitimate tactic when doing interviews and interrogations. It's a great way to learn from other cops. She used to want him banished to the observation room permanently. None of that explains the sensation that fills her chest as he says this. If he notices the hitch in her step, he doesn't comment, just sails past her and towards the door that will allow him to watch her as she works. She pulls her shifted nerves together quickly as she approaches the interview room, pad and pen in hand.

She knows immediately that the young woman seated at the table had nothing to do with Georgette's death. Years of meeting people like this had given her a keen sense of innocence and true grief. This girl had both written all over her.

"Jennifer, I'm Detective Beckett," she says gently. "I'm very sorry about your loss, this past day must have been very hard on you."

"I knew something was wrong," Jennifer responded softly, pulling at the ends of her sleeves. "She didn't come home from rehearsal, but I didn't know who to call, I thought I was being dramatic calling the police. We're both new to the city."

"It's all right, I'm sure you did everything you could," Beckett tried to reassure her. "I need to ask you about the last time you saw Georgette. Did she seem to be having any issues, anything that would indicate she was facing some sort of trouble?"

"No, definitely not. She was picking up more hours at work, paying off student loans. She'd even landed a small part in a gig down in Chelsea."

"So she was an actress?"

"Yeah, like pretty much half of this city. She was aspiring."

"You too?" Beckett pushed.

"No, no, I got my degree in library science. I work at a library in Brooklyn."

_Seems about right_, Beckett thought of the soft-spoken girl.

"The acting gig she landed, when did that start?"

"Um, about a week ago, I guess."

"And that was the last place you know for sure she was two nights ago?"

"Unless she went somewhere after," Jennifer's eyes began to well with tears again. "We were supposed to have this buddy system where we would text if we were doing something out of the norm, for safety, you know? I figured she would have let me know…"

"Jennifer, do you know where these rehearsals were?"

"I think I remember…"

As Beckett listened to the girl recite everything she could remember about her roommate's life and jotted down what she said, she couldn't help but feel the burn of Castle's eyes watching her through the glass. She hadn't heard a sound from the other room, but she knew he was there, watching her every second of this. For the first time in her career, she didn't like the observation. It made her feel like she was under a microscope.

Finishing with Jennifer, she excused herself and made her way out of the room only to come face to face with the source of her unsettled nerves.

"So, off to the theatre then," he stated in a slightly Shakespearean voice, raising his eyebrows for extra affect. She raised hers in surprise.

"You're coming?" she asked, for a moment feeling a sense of relief that he wasn't totally checked out from their partnership. Or relationship. Or whatever the hell it was.

"Eh, nothing else to do this afternoon." He chucked his coffee cup into a nearby bin. "Just as long as we're back by four. Dinner plans tonight."

Three years ago, the waggle of his eyebrows and suggestive look he gave her would have caused a sigh and the most exaggerated eye roll at his playboy behavior. Now, she was fighting the urge to go corvette hunting with a baseball bat.


	3. Chapter 3

**Thank you for the reviews!**

* * *

He really hadn't planned for it to happen, but he was willing to take the little extra bit of "moving on" vibe that had been thrown into the car ride down to the theatre in Chelsea. A few minutes into the quiet drive, Beckett's hands solidly placed at ten and two on the wheel and her eyes trained forward in the midday traffic, his cell phone had trilled in his pocket. One glance at the caller ID and his face lit up in a smile.

"Jacinda!" he crooned into the phone as he answered. He didn't see so much as feel the glare coming from the driver's seat.

It was still a delicate game that he played around Beckett these days. He was forever checking himself in her presence, trying all at once to be nonchalant, involved, removed, and increasingly over the whole situation without actually being mean. It was a struggle, he had to admit. Those first few times he had flaunted Jacinda in front of her, he was aiming to wound and he could barely contain his motives. Going home at the end of the day, though, had brought no satisfaction, only a single glass of scotch and a pitifully executed brood in his office until the wee hours of the morning. He wanted her to feel what he felt, and maybe he was even succeeding in that, but it seemed like the bitterness was for him to taste alone.

He much preferred these moments that played the game for him, that made it easier to show her that if she was not interested, there were plenty of women who were.

Listening to Jacinda describe exactly what she was planning on wearing to dinner had apparently distracted him a little too much from the task at hand as Beckett rounded a corner and abruptly threw her car into an empty parking spot, practically shooting out of the vehicle. He made a quick mess of trying to unbuckle his seatbelt before managing to set himself free, all the while attempting to say goodbye to the blonde on the other end of the phone.

"Sounds perfect… yeah, I'll - … no, I'll see you then, five o'clock, ok, have to run, bye – Beckett!" he hollered as he finally let himself out of the car.

"Finish talking to your girlfriend, Castle, I can manage this just fine on my own."

Didn't even turn around.

His heartbeat quickened in a moment of anger, seeming to match the forceful sound of her heels hitting the pavement. Setting his jaw, he strode after her, mad at himself for being in the position of following her, tagging along, just as he has always done. He quickly catches up to her, despite her head start and her long legs. Her beautiful, long, slender legs…

It only makes him angrier.

"I didn't make the trip down here to sit in the car," he says to her when he's at her shoulder.

"Didn't you?" she shot back coolly, reaching for the door she had stopped in front of and pulled it open, barely leaving enough time for him to scoot in after her before it closed again.

"Detective Beckett, NYPD," she flashed her badge at the woman in the box office kiosk. "I need to speak with the director in charge of the theatre."

Castle had been so busy letting his annoyance get the better of him he had hardly noticed they had stepped into a small theatre lobby. He was immediately taken back to his time as a child, toddling after his mother from bus and truck productions to Broadway playhouses. This would have been the type of venue Martha would have deemed "beneath" her before accepting the accolades of the audience.

"Oh," the woman seemed taken aback, but stepped away from her workspace immediately. "He's in a rehearsal right now, but let me run in and see if he can spare a moment."

She disappeared through a back door, leaving Castle to find a way to be in a small space with Kate Beckett for several minutes.

She seemed to still be stewing from the phone call incident, her body angled away from him, her head tilted down, eyes concentrating on the floor. Part of him wanted to smile smugly, while the other part wanted to gently tuck that stray strand of wavy brown hair that had slipped over her cheek back behind her ear. He remembered what her hair felt like, all soft and smooth. Jacinda's had that bleached-one-too-many-times feel to it.

Her eyes rose from the floor and met his.

_Damn_.

He forced a neutral look, furious that he had been caught starting.

"You heard from your British detective recently?"

_Smooth, Rick. That didn't sound jealous at all._

He watched her eyes blink away whatever emotion had been forming, her jaw tightening.

"No," she says simply, reverting her gaze to the gaudy pattern in the carpet.

His adam's apple bobs heavily in his throat as he swallows. This was the main reason he was failing so miserably at what he was trying to do. He let his anger force him to go for the jugular and the instant she showed she was vulnerable to the pain, it ate him up on the inside. He was god awful at this. He should have paid more attention to his mother's acting technique when he was younger.

The sound of a lobby door opening drug him out of his thoughts. A man who appeared to be in his late fifties, dressed neatly in designer jeans and a blue sweater, approached them with concern written on his face.

"So sorry to keep you waiting," he extended his hand first to Beckett, then to Castle. "Lucas Vann, artistic director and director of The Sphere Theatre."

"Lucas, I'm Detective Beckett, this is Mr. Castle," she introduced them fluidly as she had done a hundred times before, taking her notebook out of her jacket pocket. "We're here to ask you some questions about Georgette Bowton."

"Georgette," Lucas placed a sympathetic hand over his heart, his voice dipping with emotion. "Her parents called just a little while ago to let us know what happened. She was such a sweet girl. So much passion for what she was doing."

Castle risked a glance at Beckett but was unable to read her thoughts. He knew she was not a fan of the news of a murder reaching potential suspects before she had a chance to question them. She preferred them unprepared. If this was bothering her at the moment, she had a solid mask up to hide it.

"You've known her for about a week, is that correct?"

"I met her at her audition about a month ago," Lucas told her. "But rehearsals have been going on for a little over a week, yes."

"Which show?" Castle asked, unable to quell his curiosity.

"Medea," Lucas told him with a slight smile. "It's rare for such a small company to take on a classic like that. The whole company is thrilled to be doing it."

Beckett offered a tight smile in return.

"Is there any reason a member of the company would have more thrilled had Georgette not been a part of it?" she asked point blank. The director looked blindsided by the question but recovered quickly.

"She was in the chorus, I... I couldn't imagine anyone was jealous of her part," he stammered. He blinked and his brow creased slightly. "Although, I had heard from our stage manager that our Jason, Will Anderson, had butted heads with her a few times already. Seemed to think she was too green for this."

"Would it be alright if we spoke to him?" Beckett asked.

"It would… if he were here," Lucas said, worry growing in his voice. "He didn't show up for his call this morning for a costume fitting."

"Is that unusual?" Castle inquired.

"Not for Will. He's a bit temperamental as actors go."

"When was the last time you saw him?" Beckett pushed for more, and, by the look on her face, Castle could tell she had a hunch going.

"Two nights ago," Lucas told her. "He wasn't called for rehearsal last night… You don't think…"

"I don't know what to think yet, Mr. Vann," Beckett said, tucking away her notebook and offering her hand. "Thank you for your time, though. We'll be in touch."

Castle nodded in Lucas' direction in way of goodbye, trailing after Beckett onto the street for the second time in less than half an hour. His intrigue for the case was overwhelming his ability to be bothered by it, though, and he couldn't help but feel eager to hear what her thoughts were.

"Sounds like a good old case of backstage drama," he tossed out as they reached the car.

"You really think a bit of ego friction would drive someone to murder?" she asked him across the top of the Crown Vic, tugging the door open.

He shrugged.

"People have murdered for less," he told her as he slid into his seat. "Saner people, too. Remember, actors are borderline cases."

Beckett shot him a look and he couldn't resist a small laugh.

"Martha Rogers is no exception, Beckett. They make a living pretending to be someone else. Not all of them survive the task. Case in point – Marilyn Monroe, Judy Garland - "

"You're getting more masculine by the minute, Castle," she teased.

"Heath Ledger," he looked pointedly at her and almost as quickly turned his focus back to the car in front of them, unable to handle the sparkle in her hazel eyes as she gave him that crooked half smile she only seemed to use with him.

"All tragic cases, Castle, but inevitably all self inflicted," she said as she reached over and opened the glove box, pulling out a manila envelope and handing it to him, indicating he should open it as she started the car. "This doesn't fit. This killer had a point to make."

Castle followed her direction and flipped open the envelope to reveal the crime scene photos. Georgette had been found in an outcropping of boulder slabs in what he assumed to be Central Park. She had been placed, carefully, atop the tallest, lying on her back with her arms placed above her head, her long blonde hair curling around her head like a cloud. She was dressed in a simple white linen tunic, cinched at the waste by a gold cord. In her hands had been placed a mask. He would have recognized the style even without the reference of the poor girl's last days alive – the half mask of the Grecian chorus.

"I know this look," he said solemnly to Beckett, sobered by the pictures. "This mask – I've seen my mother wear one a time or two. Why didn't you show me this earlier?"

He looks over in time to see Beckett draw up a mask of her own, just as she had done with Lucas Vann, but it does nothing to disguise the accusation in her voice.

"If you had been around yesterday you would have seen it already. Apparently, you were otherwise occupied with more important things."


	4. Chapter 4

Beckett ran a hand through her hair, lightly resting her elbow on the small space afforded next to the car window. She was contemplating for the fifth time if she should pull her gumball out and police her way through the traffic to the Upper West Side. It was getting more and more tempting to use that siren to speed up the trip to Will Anderson's apartment. Since Esposito had called her with the address, she had listened to the drumming of Castle's fingers in the armrest of the car door every time they hit a red light. Or got stuck behind a truck. Or had to wait for a pedestrian.

"We'll be back by four, Castle," she said lowly as she caught him glancing at his watch for the millionth time.

"I have complete faith in you keeping a schedule, detective," he responded defensively as he pulled his sleeve back over his watch. "I can't say the same for a suspect during an interview."

"Well, I'm sorry if murder investigations are getting in the way of your social life."

Finally, the light turned and the traffic started moving again. She narrowed her eyes on the road and pushed a little harder on the gas than she normally would have, anxious to move around the cars and put an end to the ride.

"Maybe, maybe not," Castle said, pulling his phone out and checking for messages. "Although it has been nice getting a little bit of my life back."

She was lucky there was an empty alley to her immediate right. If she hadn't been so completely ticked off, she would have enjoyed the way Castle lurched in his seat, making a desperate grab for the safety handle as she careened around the corner and slammed to a stop in the middle of the road. She might have down right laughed at the look of terror on his face as she rounded on him, one hand gripping the steering wheel and the other digging into the top of her seat.

"Beckett, what the hell?"

"You're asking _me_?" she asked, struggling to keep her voice under control. "What the hell is wrong with _you_?"

"I have no idea what you're talking about!" he said with a slightly confused laugh.

"You're dropping off the map, Castle. You're not one hundred percent any more," she told him flatly, making sure she had his eyes. "And I can't have someone watching my back on a case with one eye while the other is focused on a blonde in a convertible."

For the first time in days she felt like she finally had his attention. At the very least, he was momentarily speechless. What she said was true, if not the entirety of what she was feeling towards him. She was always able to bring it back to the job when she failed at topics closer to the heart.

"Beckett, I've got your back," he said simply. She pursed her lips and kept his eye for a moment longer before turning back to the steering wheel and beginning her exit from the alley.

_But for how long?_ she couldn't help wondering.

His words hung in the air for the rest of the car ride, neither of them adding more to the conversation. In all honesty, what he had said made recent events even more confusing for her. She was starting to feel exhausted from trying to figure out where he stood in their partnership and their relationship. Resigning herself to the idea that he was drifting away from what they had and then saying things that made it seem like old times again. The uncertainty was causing her more anxiety than she would ever admit.

Will Anderson lived in a small converted brownstone on 103rd just a few blocks from Central Park. Beckett went through the motions of getting the super of the building to let her in when there was no answer to the apartment buzzer. The super tagged along as they climbed the stairs to the second floor without exchanging a word and she knocked on the apartment door.

"Will Anderson, NYPD, we need to talk to you," she called through the door. At the silence in response, she pounded a little harder. "Will, open the door."

She glanced at Castle and his expression reflected the gut feeling that was starting to form inside her. Without being told, he backed away from the door as he anticipated her actions. Reaching into her holster, she prepped her weapon and planted her legs as she prepared to ask the super to unlock the door and give her access. He did so without hesitation and with her gun raised before her she nudged the door open and cautiously stepped inside.

The smell hit her before her eyes registered what waited in the small living room just inside the door. She would know that smell anywhere from years of working homicide. She was usually prepared for it. A lifetime of working these cases would never prepare her for the ways in which a person could treat another human being. A muffled sound of disgust from Castle let her know that he had a clear view as well and the gagging noise indicated the super was not handling the situation so well. Beckett lowered her firearm as she took in the sight of Will Anderson suspended by ropes from the ceiling, looking as though he could be flying, dressed and made up much as Georgette had been, with a fierce, archaic knife through his torso. She tempered the instant anger at the person who was responsible for this.

"Well, Castle, looks like this will be a much shorter interview than you thought. You'll make your dinner plans after all," she said wryly. She caught his eye and saw the pained look on his face. Whether it was in response to the grisly sight before them or her slightly admonishing words she wasn't sure.

CSU arrived within the hour and Beckett exchanged details with Lanie while they waited for the body to be lowered to the ground.

"Based on that piece of metal protruding from his abdomen, I'm gonna say that's the probable cause of death," Lanie stated the obvious while she jotted down notes on her clipboard. "I can let you know for sure once I get him back to the morgue and run some tox screens."

"Any idea of what killed our first victim?" Beckett asked.

"Blunt force trauma to the skull," Lanie told her. "She was hit with something hard and heavy. I'm still working on finding a shape pattern to the injury, but it's a pretty bad wound. I also found a piece of colored plastic embedded in her skull."

"Let me know when you've got a lead on what the weapon might be," Beckett frowned as she considered where they were in the case. "Whoever did this might not stop with these two."

"Any leads?"

"Our best one is right in front of us, unfortunately," Beckett confessed as she watched the team begin to gently pry their victim down form his forced suspension. Castle was doing his best to stay out of their way while simultaneously getting a good look from every angle.

"How are things going with you two?" Lanie asked her suddenly, her voice lowered.

Beckett couldn't refrain from tightening her jaw, her eyes lowering.

"I honestly just keep waiting for him to stop showing up," she answered quietly, trying not to imagine showing up to a crime scene and not having him by her side. "But he's still here."

If she had wanted to elaborate, she lost her chance as Castle had apparently decided he'd seen enough and strode towards the two women with 'that look' on his face. Beckett knew he had a hypothesis.

"Greek drama," he stated with a sense of inspiration. "How does it end?"

"Tragically," Beckett said.

"Right, and extravagantly," he continued. "Usually with the lead character being taken up to the gods, leaving the messy situation on earth behind them." He turned and directed their attention to Will being carefully lowered. "Deus ex machina."

"Translation?" Lanie said, confusion written all over her face.

"God out of the machine," Castle told them. "A device used in Greek theatre to, literally, lift a player out of the drama in a lazy attempt to bring an end to the story. Saved by the gods, or mistaken identity, or drawing a plotline out until the last moment to avoid creatively handling the aftermath."

"You think the killer was trying to end a drama?" Beckett asked.

"Or criticize someone else's dramatic vision. Possibly creating his own in response."

"So we just need to find a jealous thespian in a city of a million actors," Beckett deadpanned. "Shouldn't be too hard."

She couldn't help the smirk as he rolled his eyes at her.

"I'll work on narrowing that down for you," Lanie smiled, excusing herself and walking towards the body that now lay on the ground.

"Think about it," Castle continued his formulation of a plot as he followed Beckett out of the apartment and down to the street again. "The ultimate one-upsmanship in showbusiness. The most intense performance piece ever to be conceived. Even if this guy is caught and committed, he would have the notoriety most artists dream of."

"As a psychotic serial killer?" Beckett was astonished at what he was suggesting. "You really think someone would be that desperate for fame?"

Castle shrugged as they reached the car.

"Borderline cases, Beckett, like I said," he told her.

She contemplated the idea for a moment as she ran a hand through her hair, her eyes drifting around the street. She wondered briefly if the killer was indeed trying to create his own performance, wondered if he was watching as they spoke, waiting for Will Anderson's body to make its way out the front door and considering it the final bow. She shuddered a little at the idea, grateful Castle was standing here with her.

"Either way, Castle, we're back to square one with our most promising suspect on his way to the morgue," she said as she made her way to the driver's side of the car. "Which means I get to spend the rest of the day revisiting who had a bad opinion of both of our victims."

"Shouldn't take us too long to narrow the list down now that we… have two people to…connect," he trailed off at the look she was giving him over the roof of the car. "What?"

"Us?"

"Yeah…"

"Castle, it's almost four o'clock," she told him, almost reluctantly. She saw the realization dawn on his face.

"Right," he said, letting go of the door handle. "Right, I should probably catch a cab, then. Let you get right back to the precinct."

"Ok," she said, struggling with her own damn honestly and knowing that if she hadn't said anything he would have been riding back there with her and unintentionally blowing off a dinner date with The Stewardess. "Tomorrow then?"

"Yeah," he told her, giving her a look she was probably only imagining said regret about walking away.

Beckett bit her lip as she watched him head to the corner to try his luck at securing a cab and forced herself into the car, shutting down the idea of offering him a ride home so he could get ready to go out with another woman. She slammed the door shut and peeled away from the curb, resigning herself to an afternoon shouldered with nothing but phone calls and background checks on everyone who knew Georgette and Will.


	5. Chapter 5

Castle wasn't even trying to stay focused on the goings on around him. He kept replaying moments from the day in his mind. Particularly Beckett nearly crashing her car and calling him out like he hadn't been called out in quite some time. The look on her face, the aggression… he'd been frightened and turned on all at the same time. The two glasses of wine he had worked his way through during dinner had been encouraging the turned on portion of the moment. He found himself wondering, not for the first time, if she would have the same fierceness in a more… intimate… situation. He shifted a little in his seat, throwing figurative cold water on his thoughts. He was going to go home frustrated again tonight, because he had walked away from Beckett today, because he wasn't going to go home with Jacinda in a million years, and because he was still in a state of agitation about forgetting he had a date in the first place. Oh right, he was on a date. He looked up at his dinner companion.

"… and so I told him I was flattered, but there was no way I could just leave during a layover and spend a week with him in Jamaica!" Jacinda laughed, placing a falsely modest hand over the plunging neckline of her dress. Castle inwardly winced at the attempt to draw his attention to her assets. "Can you believe it?"

"Hard to believe," he said with a forced smile. Jacinda laughed, but looked at him quizzically.

"Are you okay, Ricky?" she asked. "You've been so quiet."

"Fine," he told her, folding his napkin next to his empty plate. "Fine, just a little tired, I think."

"Well," Jacinda smiled at him. "Let's skip dessert and get you home, then." She held up her hand and flagged down the waiter for the check.

He didn't know why he waited until they had pulled up in front of her place, especially considering he had no intentions of going up with her, but he had always had a hard time breaking bad news to women. When she turned to him as the cab stopped, expectation shining in her expression, he started with the words he knew would leave no doubt about what he was trying to say.

"Listen, Jacinda…"

She hadn't been furious, but she wasn't exactly happy either.

He went home thinking about how even when he had written off his chances with Kate Beckett, she was still managing to hold his mind and emotions captive. The whole situation was becoming more and more impossible for him. How could he live his life when she refused to leave his mind?

Castle unlocked the door and pushed it open wearily. The flat was quiet, but the lights were still on. He dropped his keys in the bowl next to the door and made his way into the living room, finding Alexis curled up with a book. His heart smiled at the sight of his daughter, as it always would no matter what he was going through. She looked up at him and smiled.

"Hey, dad," she said sweetly.

"Hey, pumpkin," he leaned down and kissed the top of her head before flopping down on the couch next to her.

"How was your date?"

"Dinner was good. They had a phenomenal butternut squash risotto."

Alexis rolled her eyes and gave him a knowing look.

"Dad, that's not what I asked."

Castle looked at her, wondering if there was ever a time when he had had the ability to pull the wool over her eyes for just one second. He gave her a small smile and conceded defeat.

"There aren't going to be any more dates," he informed her. Alexis looked at him, surprised.

"That sounds awfully final. Are you just talking about Jacinda?"

"When did you become my therapist, my dear daughter?" he asked her, attempting to joke in order to put off what she was getting at. Normally, Martha was his go-to about matters of the heart, about Beckett. Alexis was aware, had always been aware, of his dating and, upon his lack of dating in the past two years, his feelings for Beckett. He had barely revealed what was going on with Beckett, but it was enough to make Alexis more protective of him than usual. Not wanting to damage her opinion of the detective, he had kept quiet on the topic recently. He sighed when she just looked at him, waiting for him to spill. "She was nice, but it wasn't going anywhere. It's going to take a little time, kiddo. Time to move on."

Alexis folded her book closed and looked down at her hands, her fingers entwining.

"Dad, can I tell you something?"

"Sure, anything."

"I don't think you want to move on," she told him, hurrying on as he started to protest. "I don't. If you did, you would just walk away. I think you're still hoping that… something might happen. Why else would you want to go through the pain of being there every day?"

He honestly had no response. He wasn't a cop and the Nikki Heat stories had nearly come to a screeching halt after Beckett's unintended revelation. He was running out of excuses to stay.

"I don't believe that if I stick around anything is going to change," he told Alexis. "Beckett made her decision. I'm just trying to keep doing what I do without clinging to false hope."

Alexis looked down at her hands again and asked meekly, "What if… you had a reason to hope?"

Brow furrowed in genuine confusion, Castle sat up a little straighter and peered down at his daughter.

"What do you mean?"

"About a week ago, I was down in the morgue hallway," Alexis confessed. "And I heard crying. I didn't stay for long, I was afraid someone would see me, but… I could see Detective Beckett and Dr. Parish inside one of the autopsy rooms. Beckett was in tears. I didn't hear much, just that… she said she was too late."

It felt like he had been punched in the gut. His mind raced, thinking of all the other things Beckett could have been referring to in that moment, trying to find some other reason for her to be crying in Lanie's company. It was just a coincidence. It had to be.

"Her exact words were…"

" 'I waited too long. I'm too late,'" Alexis quoted back to him. Castle was quiet for a moment, collecting the million thoughts that seemed to be paralyzing his brain.

"Why didn't you say anything before?" he asked gently.

"I didn't know if you'd want to know," she told him. "You were so set on moving on. Are you mad?"

"No, no sweetheart," he said quickly, wrapping a protective arm around her. "Not at all. In fact, I appreciate you looking out for my feelings."

He sighed again as Alexis settled her cheek against his shoulder.

"It's complicated, isn't it dad?"

"It always has been…"

* * *

He showed up early to the precinct for the first time in a few weeks. As the elevator doors opened, he balanced one coffee cup on top of another and ran a hand quickly through his hair, smoothing it back. He scanned the room and saw her, already at her desk. No matter how early he showed up, he would never beat her. Unsure of himself, he walked a little more slowly, a little less bravado in his step than usual. He stopped parallel to her desk and wordlessly placed her coffee next to her hand.

She looked up at him, hazel eyes meeting blue, and he held his breath. She glanced down at the cup.

"Need me to set you up with another detective again, Castle?" she asked, her voice deep and slightly sarcastic. His heart sank.

"No," he said, shifting his weight. "No, I just thought you might… like some coffee."

He waited, watching her expression change ever so slightly. After a few moments, Beckett wrapped her slender fingers around the cup and pulled it towards her, looking back to the file in front of her.

"We pulled a partial print from the ropes in Will Anderson's apartment," she told him. "And Lanie was able to figure out a pattern from the head wound on Georgette Bowton. We've got some work to do, Castle."

He settled into his chair.


	6. Chapter 6

**Oh wow guys, that season finale… amazing, and totally threw off my writing groove. I mean, how do you beat that scene? Alas, I continue because I have this story all planned out, and thank you for sticking it out!  
**

* * *

_Zip it, Lanie_.

Beckett hoped, and hoped hard, that her friend's mind reading skills were acute as she and Castle walked through the doors in the morgue to get the full report from the ME. In all her ranting over the last few weeks, she had probably made too much of the lack of coffee brought by Castle and she was confident that the cup in her hand would be the first thing Lanie would notice. To her credit, Lanie said nothing. She did, however, give Beckett the sassiest 'I-told-you-so' look possible. Beckett refrained from rolling her eyes, knowing there would never be a bigger champion of Castle and her making little mystery thriller babies than her best friend. Coffee was obviously a step in the right direction according to Lanie.

"Whatcha got for us, Lanie?" she asked, approaching the autopsy table.

"Our girl here was hit hard by a metal object with sharp corners," the ME informed them, pointing out the wound. "The piece of plastic I found had an imprint on it, TBlue 362."

"Able to track it?"

"Luckily, yes. It stands for Tipton Blue 362, it's a brand of light filter sold by Rosco Lighting."

"That's a theatrical lighting company," Castle interjected.

"And based on the pattern of the wound in combination with that, I would say she was hit with one of these," Lanie led them to a computer screen and brought up a photo of a tubular metal light. "It's a Leko, a common lighting instrument used in the theatre."

"Those aren't typically just lying around in someone's house," Castle said. "I would bet my next advance that she was attacked someplace public."

"What about the print from the second victim's crime scene?" Beckett asked.

"We had a hit on the system, we got lucky. The print belongs to a man named Jack Littleton, Espo's running a background on him now."

"Good," Beckett inwardly breathed a sigh of relief. The link could stop the killer before he had a chance to move on to another victim. "Cause of death what we figured?"

"Yup," Lanie told her. "The blade damaged most of his internal organs. Poor man didn't stand a chance. I'd place time of death somewhere between ten last night and one this morning."

"Thanks, Lanie."

"I'll let you know if I find anything else."

Beckett nodded her understanding and turned to exit the morgue, Castle close at her heels.

"So what now?" he asked.

"Now I take a second look at the list of people involved in that production," she said as they entered the elevator, punching the button to take them back up to the bullpen. "The name Littleton rings a bell."

"Oooh, jealous castmate?"

"Dunno, Castle, that's why I'm rechecking the list," she smiled over at him and took a sip of her latte. Out of the corner of her eye, she caught him watching her. Maybe the last few weeks had been wearing too hard on her, or maybe it had just been too long since she'd had any contact with a man, but the sight of him obviously watching her lips sent her mind to places that were entirely not workplace appropriate.

Fortunately, her thoughts were interrupted by the ding of the elevator as they arrived at the main floor of the precinct. She forced a neutral look onto her face and noticed Castle shift slightly before stepping through the doorway. She caught site of Esposito and Ryan focused intently on a computer screen and hoped that they had made some headway on their suspect.

"Espo, whatcha got?" she called out, making her way to her desk.

"Jack Littleton, twenty eight years old and resident of Queens," Esposito straightened up and gave them the rundown. "One prior – he assaulted a coworker a few years back. The charges were dropped, though."

"Let me guess," Beckett pulled out the list from the Sphere Theatre. "A fellow actor?"

"He's on the list?" Castle asked her.

"One of the chorus members, according to Lucas Vann," Beckett stood up. "Let's go get him."

* * *

A quick trip to Littleton's Queens apartment and a conversation with his roommate revealed that he was working his lunch shift at the Thai restaurant a few blocks away. Beckett pulled her car up front with Castle, Epso and Ryan pulling in close behind her. She led the group through the front door of the establishment, quite aware of how out of place they looked compared to the bustle of the patrons, families and young couples, enjoying the first of the warm weather coming in through the opened patio doors. Beckett unlatched her badge from her hip and held it up for the hostess to see.

"We need to talk to Jack Littleton."

No sooner were the words out of her mouth than a crash of dishes and glasses snapped their attention to the dining room. All eyes were on a young man with golden hair and the looks for an Abercrombie add.

"Beckett, that's him," Ryan said.

If Littleton wasn't spooked already, those words did it. Without a glance towards the tray he had dropped, their suspect bolted through the tables of diners and made a beeline for the patio doors.

"Go!" Beckett hollered at her partners, running full speed out the front door after Jack, Ryan and Castle on her tail and Espo booking it through the restaurant right after him. Her feet pounded hard on the sidewalk and she began to gain on him, grateful that he didn't seem to be in terribly great shape.

"Stop!" she yelled as she closed in, hoping that she wouldn't have to jump him. "NYPD, stop!"

He wasn't stopping.

_Dammit_.

A substantial pile of garbage bags spilling into the sidewalk in front of a building gave her the edge she needed. Jack slowed to avoid the pile, and she made her move. Launching herself forward, she aimed for his shoulders and they both fell hard to the ground. She straddled his back and sat up, grabbing his arms with the intention of cuffing him. As she reached for them, Jack thrashed beneath her and almost unseated her. She kept her balance and threw a hand to the side of his face to pin him to the pavement but not before he tried to take a swipe at her and ripped her shirtsleeve with his watch in the process. By this time, Ryan was at her side and pressed a knee into his back while she cuffed him, Espo training his weapon as backup.

"Jack Littleton," she said, catching her breath, "you are under arrest for the suspected murders of Georgette Bowton and Will Anderson."

* * *

"I'm telling you, I _didn't do it_!"

"Then why did you run, Jack?" Beckett leaned back in her chair, assessing the young man before her and Castle. This time, there wasn't even a question of Castle following her into the room. He had gone practically hanging onto her coattails. Whatever had shifted between them was slowly shifting back and she was happy and anxious at the same time. Her therapist had asked her once if she was scared that he wouldn't wait for her or scared that he would, and while she had come to the conclusion that it was arguably worse to have him not wait, what she planned to do about it was another question without an answer. Not to mention their lives and their chances to deal with the topic of 'them' were constantly getting interrupted by murders. Speaking of…

Jack Littleton was literally sweating it out below the light of the interrogation room, looking about as nervous as anyone she'd seen.

"If you didn't do it, you helped the person who did," Castle pressured him.

"No, man, no!" Jack insisted, running his hands roughly through his hair.

"Then what?" Beckett asked forcefully. "Running from a group of cops doesn't look like innocence to me."

There was a long stretch of silence as Jack looked at them with wild eyes, tapping the table with his index finger.

"Ok… ok," he started. "I had pot in my locker."

"Excuse me?" Beckett narrowed her eyes. It was not at all what she was expecting.

"I've been growing it in my kitchen box window and selling it," Jack breathed quickly. "I thought you guys were coming to bust me."

Beckett found her initial confusion turning to annoyance. This lead had been promising, but this case just kept throwing her curveballs.

"Jack, we found your prints on a rope at Will's murder scene," she informed him. "Care to explain that?"

"I have no idea what you're talking about," Jack practically squeaked out. "The last time I handled a rope was at rehearsal last week helping to set up the fly rail. I had _nothing_ to do with any murders!"

"You sure about that?" Castle leaned forward and folded his hands on the table. "You sure you didn't get a little jealous of your castmates there? Because I get it, the theatre world is cutthroat. With Will out of the way - "

"I'm telling you, I didn't do it!"

Crossing her arms over her stomach, Beckett looked hard at her only viable suspect. Her head was starting to throb which, nowadays, meant the scar tissue on her side and around her ribs began to throb as well.

"Where were you between ten and one last night?" she asked flatly.

"At a club on West 14th street, I was there til three."

"Can anyone corroborate that?"

"My friends, the bartender, bouncer maybe."

* * *

Castle approached her desk slowly as she watched Jack being released from the precinct. She scooted over and let him lean against the edge next to her, looking as frustrated as she felt. The small victory she felt was that Jack was going straight from homicide to narcotics. He still had to face the consequences of admitting to dealing.

"He alibied out?" he asked.

"Yup," she said. "Bartender at the club says he's a regular, served him drinks from nine to two thirty."

"Well at least someone had a good night. Although I don't envy him the hangover."

Beckett looked at him, too curious for her own good.

"Date didn't turn out so well?"

Castle shrugged.

"It was fun for what it was."

The answer was not completely satisfying to her, but she let it go. It had been a long day and with her side hurting and knees bruised from the fine defense practice earlier, she was ready to call it and get some rest.

"Well, Castle, I think I may take a cue from Littleton and indulge in a nightcap," she said as she pushed away from her desk and reached for her jacket.

"Doesn't sound like a bad idea," he agreed with a smile. After a moment of watching her gather her things, he continued. "Care to… join me at the Old Haunt?"

"Sure," Beckett smiled. She held up her arm to display the remains of her blouse. "Just give me a chance to make a costume change at home."

"Aha, nice joke," Castle chuckled. "I'll meet you there in half an hour."

Beckett watched him walk away before heading out herself. Her heart lifted at the prospect of fixing whatever was wrong between them. He was letting her back in and she realized how important that was. She had become so used to the idea of him always being there that she had grown careless, pushing her limits on how long she could make him wait for her to get her damn life together. If he was willing to give her a second chance, she wasn't planning on wasting it.

Already going through her wardrobe in her head, planning what she could wear to the pub that would give a special air to their meeting, Beckett pulled into her parking spot and headed towards her building. She had to keep herself from running up the steps, unlocking the front door to the building, and smiling to herself as she sauntered towards the stairs. She grasped the railing but her foot never made it to the first stair. A body hit her full force and slammed her into the wall and before she could react she felt something heavy crash into the back of her head, making her vision swim before everything went black.


	7. Chapter 7

**Hang in there guys, plenty of Casketty goodness to come in future chapters!**

Castle had sauntered into the Old Haunt, feeling a strangely energizing combination of confidence and first date nerves that he hadn't experienced in about ten years. Upon seeing him checking his shirt and blazer combination in the entryway mirror for the fifth time and picking up the scent of his most expensive cologne, his mother had raised an eyebrow and asked if he was reconsidering things with Jacinda. After about a minute of stammering, denying, and inspecting the ceiling, Martha simply smiled and sighed, "Beckett," and walked away.

After fifteen minutes of fidgeting with tumbler of Scotch and glancing at the door every time it opened, he figured she was just running late. After twenty minutes, he started to get a sinking feeling in his stomach. After half an hour and several unanswered text messages and calls later, he was starting to get very worried. It took him a few moments of arguing with himself to decide to call Esposito, realizing that the fallout and inevitable third degree from the two male detectives about his meeting up with Beckett for drinks when they were supposed to be fighting was worth it if it meant her safety.

"Yo Castle, what's up?" Esposito answered.

"Esposito… can you do me a favor," Castle heard the underlying tone of worry in his voice. "Can you meet me at Beckett's place as soon as you can?"

"What's going on, bro?"

"I don't know, hopefully nothing," he said as placed a twenty on the bar and headed towards the door. "Just a bad feeling."

When Castle arrived at Beckett's building, Esposito and Lanie were waiting for him at the base of the front steps. He gave them a look as he approached.

"Hope I didn't interrupt anything," he said. Esposito cleared his throat and puffed his chest out defensively while Lanie rolled her eyes.

"What's the deal, Castle, why did you call me out here?" Esposito demanded.

"Right," Castle walked past them and up the stairs, reaching into his pocket and extracting a key. "We were supposed to meet up at the Old Haunt almost an hour ago and she never showed - "

"You guys were meeting for drinks?" Lanie asked incredulously. Castle looked back at her.

"She never showed," he said again pointedly and turned back towards the door to open it. "And she hasn't answered her phone."

"You got a key to her place, dude?" Esposito indicated the open door.

"Yeah, after the whole incident with the bomb in her apartment I kinda stole her new apartment key for an afternoon and made a copy."

"You stole it and she never noticed?" Lanie followed Castle and Esposito as they entered the lobby of the building, a dim yellow bulb supplying the only light.

"Oh no, she noticed, she just didn't argue about it for once," Castle informed her as he walked towards the flight of stairs leading to the second floor.

"Castle, wait," Lanie called out to him.

He turned around with a small smile. "Lanie, she was seriously okay with it - "

"Not that," Lanie pushed past him and pulled a pair of gloves out of her medical bag. She walked over to the base of the stairs and kneeled down. "This."

Castle and Esposito followed her lead and knelt down as well. Castle's heart nearly stopped when he saw what the ME had with eyes far more trained than his own.

"Is that - ?"

"Blood, most likely," Lanie pulled out a vial and swab and got to work on the small marks of red. "Here on the floor and on the wall."

"Oh god, Beckett," Castle looked up to the second floor, his chest tightening. Before he gave the other two a chance to talk him down from his worst case scenario leap, he bolted up the stairs and straight to her door. His heart raced as he got closer, all manner of bad thoughts bombarding his mind. He struggled to keep his hand steady as he unlocked her door and walked into her apartment, halting just inside the door.

"Beckett?" he called out. He was met with a wall of silence.

The precinct at night was subdued, with only a few cops and night security roaming the halls, affording them the privacy they desired to work swiftly under the radar. Ryan met them in the lab near the ME rooms, responding quickly to Esposito's call. Lanie set to work, doing what she did best, and Castle watched her like a hawk, pacing in random patterns throughout the room.

"Castle, you need to stop, you're making me nauseous," Lanie scolded him as she placed a vial in the centrifuge.

"Can't this go any faster?" he huffed in frustration, anxious beyond belief. He was rarely around when actual testing was going on and he realized he would never have the patience for it. Somewhere in the city, the woman he cared deeply for was potentially in grave danger and he felt as though he might chew his own hand off if he did not get to her soon.

"Science only goes as fast as it can," she said simply. "That's my girl out there, Castle, I want this done as quickly as you do. Let's just make sure we've got our bases covered."

"Isn't there a way to… compare colors or something?"

"Compare colors?" Lanie looked at him like he'd lost his mind. Maybe he had. She indicated towards Ryan. "Get him out of here before I start pipetting, he's going to make me ruin the very small sample I have to work with."

"C'mon, Castle, we can try to run a trace on Beckett's phone signal," Ryan put a hand on his shoulder, jarring him a little as he was led out of the lab and back into the main part of the precinct.

Trying to track down her cell phone signal was the smallest of distractions for his overworked brain. Esposito loaded the system only to figure out that her phone was either off or dead. No signal. No easy answer. He wished he could pull upon their connection to hone in on exactly where she was, what she was feeling. He had been uncouth during the investigation with Colin Hunt, purposefully acting like their bond had been damaged, their unspoken connection shaken from its axis. He'd take it back a million times if it meant she was safe.

His regretful thoughts were interrupted by Esposito's desk phone ringing.

"Lanie, what do you have?" he asked as he punched the button for speaker. Lanie's voice came over the speaker.

"The blood is Beckett's."

Castle sank in his chair, leaning far over and cradling his head in his hands and letting a moan escape.

"There's room to hope, Castle," she continued, her voice sounding hurried, determined. "There was a second set of DNA. Whoever attacked her may have been cut. I'm running it now. Keep your fingers crossed this psycho is in the system."

"How long til you get a match?" Castle asked, his voice catching slightly.

"At least two hours," Lanie informed them. "I know it seems like forever, Castle, but I jumped the line as it is. Go home, get some rest, and I will call you as soon as I know anything."

He didn't even have a chance to argue with her before the line went dead. Esposito picked up the receiver and replaced it, effectively silencing the dial tone. Castle looked up to see both detectives' eyes fixed on him.

"Don't do it, Castle," Ryan said, his brow drawn in concern and his arms crossed.

"Do what?"

"You've got that look, man," Esposito chimed in.

"That look like you're gonna go rip the city apart trying to find her," Ryan finished. "Do what she said. Go home and rest. We can't do anything until we get that identity."

They were right. He was wound like a spring and there was nothing he could do about it but go home and wait. Even if he wanted to go after her, where the hell would he even start?

As he made his way out of the front of the precinct, his feet seemed to move of their own accord, leading him down streets that did not lead to home. When he finally stopped and looked up at the building, it occurred to him that he would be missed by his own family as much as he was missing Beckett. He pulled out his phone, prepping the lie that he was working through the night at the precinct and fully prepared for his mother's suggestive tones about the real reasons he wouldn't be returning home anytime soon.

If only those assumptions were true.

It would be infinitely less painful to be leading Kate up to her apartment on his arm instead of climbing the stairs half numb by himself. Suggesting a nightcap as they settled on the couch instead of downing a tumbler of whiskey that she kept in the top cupboard. Wrapping her in his arms as he had done thousands of times in his dreams instead of passing out on her couch, a wayward sweatshirt pulled into his hands, scented with her spiced perfume and lulling him into a fitful sleep.

* * *

He jerked awake as his phone sounded on the coffee table, vibrating the wood. In a haze, he registered that it was barely dawn. Lack of sleep made him clumsy, feeling like he had been socked in the eyes, and he groped for the phone.

"Lanie," he rasped out, clearing his throat. "What's going on?"

"We got an ID on the DNA. You need to get down here."

He barely knew how he got to the 12th so quickly, but he was pretty sure he J-walked through most of the city. When he walked into the bullpen, he immediately knew that half the force had heard about the previous night's events. Esposito, Ryan, and Lanie were gathered around Captain Gates outside of her office, all looking serious as he approached.

"Mr. Castle," Gates set her sights on him. "Once again, it seems I can't get through an investigation without your input. You were the last person to have contact with Detective Beckett. Why doesn't that surprise me."

Castle looked from Gates to the others, not sure if he should be offended or worried. Fortunately, Esposito came to his rescue.

"The second set of DNA belongs to Mark Strouse. Long rap sheet. Defaulted on student loans, filed for bankruptcy, assault, public intoxication. The guy is a mess."

Ryan gestured towards the interrogation room and Castle started walking with the group in stride.

"Changed his name when he filed, seemed to want a fresh start," he picked up where Esposito left off. "He worked hard to bury his original identity."

They stopped in front of the observation room and Esposito placed his hand on the doorknob.

"You caught him?" Castle asked, feeling adrenaline course through his body at the thought of ending this whole nightmare.

"No," Esposito said, his voice low with an edge. "But we did track down his brother."

He opened the door for Castle and let him approach the one-way glass. He felt his blood run cold as he saw the man sitting at the table on the other side of the glass.

"That's Lucas Vann," he said in disbelief. "That's the director from the theatre."

Over the next hour, Castle watched as Esposito, Ryan, and Captain Gates personally tore down the man who had been completely composed two days ago. Sweat, a few tears, and a good amount of hand wringing brought about the revelation that Mark Strouse was in fact Hubble Vann, a man whose life never seemed to go right. He'd called his brother numerous times over the years to threaten, blackmail, and plead for a second chance over and over again. The most recent call, as Esposito brought to the table, was four days ago. Castle and Lanie watched as Lucas insisted for the fifth time that he had talked to his brother but he had absolutely no idea where he was.

They left the crumpled man in his deflated state, exiting the interrogation room. Ryan opened the observation door and leaned into the room.

"He's done for the time being, he's useless until he pulls it together again," he told them. "We're going to try to track the phone calls over the last few months between the two of them."

He backed out of the room and Castle was about to follow when he felt Lanie's hand on his arm. He turned to face her, taken aback by the look on her face.

"What are you going to do when you get her back, Castle?"

"What are you talking about?" he forced a look of confusion.

"Don't play innocent. You mess around with her for a few weeks right when she thinks you said goodbye to your playboy days and then take her out for drinks when she's about to crack," Lanie leaned in, lowering her voice.

"_I_ messed with _her_?" he tried not to let the indignation take over, a flux of conflicting emotions swarming his body. "Lanie, if you only knew the half - "

"And if you only knew," she interrupted him. "But you don't, because she didn't have a breakdown in your arms."

"I can't control who she confides in," Castle muttered unhappily.

"No, but you can damn well encourage it."

"Castle, you coming?" Esposito's voice hollered through the partially closed door.

He held Lanie's eye for a moment longer, knowing exactly what kind of a jerk he had looked like for the last few weeks. He also knew he had a reason. And as he had asked himself once before, he needed to figure out if he was willing to let it go. She was missing and it was killing him, and then he was forced to confront the lie she had spun for nearly a year in the midst of all of this. It was too much.

"I need to get some air."

He was out of the building quickly, walking blindly and struggling to check his emotions. The world around him seemed to pass by in a blur, people and buildings seeming to meld into each other. In retrospect, he knew he should have been more aware. He knew it the moment he passed in front of a random alley way and felt the harsh metal of a gun press into the base of his ribs and the gruff "Get off the street" in his ear. He thought quickly, looking for a way to overcome the situation, but his mind would not work fast enough. He felt a blow strike across his back and then his side, effectively knocking the wind from his body. As he staggered to maintain his balance, the final blow came to the back of his head and his worst fears about the moment came true as he realized he was losing consciousness and any chances he had to help find Kate.


	8. Chapter 8

Beckett came to slowly, struggling to force her brain into a state of alertness that it simply would not reach. It had been a long time since she'd taken a blow to the head like that. In the fog, she registered movement nearby. It was dark, wherever she had been taken to.

_Come on, Beckett, wake up! Get your head on straight!_

Whoever was moving in the darkness did not appear bothered by her testing the constraints that were strapping her to a wooden chair. They had done a good job – she was immobilized. She continued to tug at the straps, hoping to find any sort of weakness, as she strained to see who her abductor was as her eyes adjusted to the very dim light emitting from above her. She could only make out a form hunched over and dragging something across the floor. Swallowing hard, she had a sinking feeling she knew what was being dragged.

Sure enough, after a few minutes' exertion, a body was propped in a chair opposite her. Even in the near blackout lighting, she recognized the silhouette. He was slumped over, his head bobbing onto his chest. Her heart leapt into her throat and she felt the instant sting of tears as the worst possible scenario filled her mind.

"Castle…"

"He's not dead, detective."

His voice was silky. And deep. There was no other way to describe it. She'd dealt with dozens of killers in her career and had worked up an immunity to the hypnotic tones some of them tried to use on her. This voice was different. There was no trickery. Only calm. It worried her.

"Is he okay?" she ventured to ask.

"He'll have a mother of a headache when he wakes up," her captor informed her as he began the process of strapping Castle down in a similar fashion to Beckett. "But other than that, he should be fine as long as you both follow my directions."

"What do you want us to do?" she asked, her returning senses making her bolder.

She saw the black outline of his body increase as he stood up and turned to walk towards her. Her intake of breath was thankfully quiet as he knelt at her feet, torso brushing her shins and knees. His fingers gingerly pushed the hem of her sleeve up her arm and she felt the pinch of metal on her skin.

"You know something, Detective Beckett," he said as he repeated the action with her other arm. "I've read the Nikki Heat novels."

_God dammit. If I have to deal with one more psychotic mystery novel freak…_

"I'm not her."

"No, you're not," he murmured as he leaned in closer to her face, forcing enough of a strip of fabric into her mouth to effectively silence her before wrapping the rest around her head to seal the gag. Her heart had been pounding before, but now it was ready to burst from her chest. "You're much more interesting."

He stood and stepped back from her, allowing her a view of Castle. In the dim, she could see him gaze over at the unconscious man, then back at her.

"You might just be the best story I ever tell," he said wistfully, his footsteps echoing as he left her vision.

Beckett was in shock. She couldn't believe she'd let them get to this place again. Locked in a freezer. Plunging to the bottom of the Hudson in her cruiser. Battling a tiger in a basement. Now, taken hostage by some theatrical lunatic. And she hadn't even taken off without telling anyone at the precinct this time. They had been going to meet for drinks, for Christ's sake. Her heart constricted at the thought. This was the antithesis of where she wanted the evening to go. Finally ready to let in a little joy, indulge feelings that had running too deep for too long. She felt like crying.

She fought instead.

With every ounce of strength, she pushed and pulled against her restraints, trying to shout to Castle to wake him up. In the back of her mind, she knew that all this would get her would be sore wrists and a hoarse voice, but she didn't care. She was going to fight until she couldn't anymore.

At the sound of a slight groan, she stilled, wanting to make sure she had really heard it. She saw his head roll to one side and another groan followed. Calling out his name as best she could, she continued to struggle.

She heard him test the restraints that had been placed around him, saw him look around in the same state of worry and confusion she had been in. In a matter of moments, the lighting began to change. His face emerged from the shadows, etched with fear.

"Beckett…"

She'd never ached to run into his arms so much. She called out his name, knowing it probably sounded like nonsense behind the gag. His face changed, a determined look overtaking the worry.

"Beckett - !"

Every muscle in her body contracted and she felt the searing of a million knives hit her, her eyes squeezing shut against the sensation. It was over in an instant, but the pain lingered. _The metal,_ she thought, knowing instantly what had happened. She felt her eyes tearing up and she opened them again only to be met with a horrified expression on Castle's face. She fought the urge to whimper.

"No, Mr. Castle."

The silky voice came as though from the heavens, and Beckett noticed for the first time that they were in a theatre. She looked out over the empty seats and could see their captor's shadow in the lighting booth. _It really is all just a show to him_… The thought was terrifyingly grim. Her gaze went back to Castle and she tried as hard as she could to convey to him to just go with it, do whatever he said until a way out could be found.

"I don't like the last name idea. It's overused in every bad cop show ever made. The least we could do is address each other properly. Call her by her given name."

Beckett looked at him, silently asking him to go along with this. This guy was aiming to get personal and any hitch in his artistic plan was a surefire way to death at this point.

"Kate… Katherine."

His voice sounded rough, like he was checking back a surge of emotions. She didn't blame him. She would probably sound the same if she had her voice to use.

"That's a good start. If this is all going to go well, you'd better get used to my vision. Any deviance and… well, let's just say that the electrical capacity of this space has yet to be tested. And it would be a shame to find out what it is, wouldn't it?"

_Shit._ Her eyes felt permanently opened wide, sure that the next moment would not bring anything more threatening than the last only to be proven wrong. This was unbelievably not good. Was his plan to torture them until they succumbed? Or just her? Or torture Castle by making him watch her be tortured? Why had he brought up the Nikki Heat books? What made her so fascinating to him?

Why didn't she just get to have the evening she wanted with Castle?

The lights began to dim and the barrage of questions ceased. Her sole focus became his face, his blue eyes looking deep into hers, brow drawn in anxiety.

"Kate…"

It grew darker.

"Rick."

Blackness swallowed them and a tense silence took over. It wasn't long before she felt her body start to shake from the effort of not moving, scared to risk any misstep. She was completely unsure if it was day or night, but she felt exhausted. After what seemed like an hour but was likely only five minutes, she risked a glance at the booth. It was dark.

"Kate?"

His voice was so quiet she thought her mind was playing tricks on her.

"Mhmm?" she responded, equally quiet. When she received no answer, she figured maybe she had imagined it after all. A few moments passed and he continued and she realized he had just been testing the waters.

"I'm so sorry this happened."

"Castle, it's not your fault."

It sounded like gobbledygook behind the cloth. He didn't seem to notice.

"I am, and don't argue."

Another minute of silence passed between them in the darkness.

"I don't know what I could have done to stop it, but I'm sorry nonetheless," he sighed. She just listened. "This was not the evening I had planned, Kate. I imagined you… walking through that pub door in something slutty - "

She snorted her disapproval.

" – sexy. I said sexy."

The darkness barely hid her eyeroll.

"Buying you a glass of something strong and nursing a matching glass for as long as possible just to keep the evening going. Feeling warm, but not getting drunk. Offering you a ride back to your place and dealing with your protests until you gave in like you planned to do from the start. Trying not to seem too eager at your offer for a nightcap in your kitchen. And then… Kate, this is so far from where I wanted to be today…"

She was ridiculously grateful for the blackness. She couldn't have handled it if Castle had seen the tears streaming down her face at his words.


End file.
